


once we were perfect strangers

by spaceburgers



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cuddling, M/M, post-Episode 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8584114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceburgers/pseuds/spaceburgers
Summary: Wherein Yuuri is really, really sleepy, and then they talk about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> the alternate title to this fic was "now all of china knows you're banging" but it felt unprofessional

To be completely truthful, Yuuri has no idea what happens afterwards.

They must’ve gotten up from the ice at some point, although if asked about it, Yuuri couldn’t tell you when or how exactly it happened. He remembers the award ceremony afterwards—Phichit won the gold, and he’d hugged Yuuri afterwards, told him he was looking forward to seeing him again at the Grand Prix Final. Yuuri remembers that much, at least. He also remembers the interviews afterwards, remembers the cameras flashing in his face and Viktor still by his side, one arm slung casually around his waist. What did Yuuri get asked about? His routine? His future competitions? That’s about when his brain started getting fuzzy; it’s not like he could’ve possibly been concentrating with the feel of Viktor’s fingers against his skin, separated only by the single layer of Yuuri’s skin-tight costume. His lips still tingled from where they’d been pressed against Viktor’s mouth and if he turned his head to the left he could see the profile of Viktor’s face, handsome and sure and smiling, and really, Yuuri can’t be blamed at all for not remembering a single thing about what happened afterwards.

They make their way back to the hotel. Someone hailed a taxi, maybe? They have an early morning flight the next day so Viktor tells him to head to bed early, and you must be exhausted, Yuuri, doing all that on barely any sleep, make sure you go to bed properly this time. And Yuuri thinks he probably nodded in agreement, or said yes maybe, and did that actually happen? Did Viktor actually kiss him? In public? In front of everyone? Did that honestly happen?

Yuuri thinks he’s probably weirdly quiet all the way back. He thinks he catches Viktor looking strangely at him a few times. Yuuri isn’t even capable of speech. It’s been a long day. He’s allowed this much.

He thinks he probably falls asleep at some point, because when he opens his eyes again it’s dark and Viktor has one hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.

“Yuuri,” he says. “Wake up.”

Yuuri blinks, rubs his eyes until his vision returns again. Viktor’s face swims into view. Close. He’s close, and somehow that proximity doesn’t surprise Yuuri at all anymore.

“Viktor,” he says, except he’s still half-asleep, and it comes out more like a garbled mess. Viktor smiles at him.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he says.

Viktor’s lips are so red. Yuuri wants to kiss him all over again.

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri realizes abruptly that he’s been staring. He shakes himself, tears his eyes away from Viktor’s mouth.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry. Let’s go.”

They’re both quiet as they make their way up to their hotel rooms. They stand side-by-side on opposite sides of the elevator, eyes fixed to the display as it counts down the floors.

Yuuri’s still in a daze.

He eventually manages to make it to his own room, stumbles down the hallway with his limbs feeling like lead until he gets to his own door. Viktor’s room is further ahead, so he pats Yuuri on the shoulder and keeps walking. Yuuri tries not to think about it, focuses instead of trying to fish out his keys from his pocket—

Which aren’t there.

No, this has to be a mistake. He’s just sleepy, that’s all. They have to be there. He just needs to look harder. No, they’re not in his pocket. Maybe in his bag? They _have_ to be there. He zips his bag open, digs through his stuff, pushes aside his phone and his headphones and his bottle but no keys, oh god, did he lose his keys—

It must be a good five minutes before he gives up completely. He’s starting to look like an idiot.

He should go downstairs to the lobby, go ask for a spare set of keys. But he’s so _tired_. He feels like he can barely move his feet another step, much less all the way back down to the first floor.

Well. There _is_ a compromise available.

He doesn’t even think about it. His feet move out of their own accord, stopping right in front of Viktor’s own room.

Yuuri stares at the wooden door, the number inscribed neatly to its left. It’s Viktor’s room, alright. There’s no mistake about it.

Yuuri stares at it. And stares at it some more.

And then he raises his hand and knocks.

It takes a while before the door opens. Yuuri contemplates fleeing, but his legs feel like they’re suddenly glued to the floor.

The door opens, and Viktor is standing there in a bathrobe. His eyes widen when he sees who it is.

“Yuuri?”

“I lost my room key,” Yuuri says. “Can I crash here?”

“Of course, but—”

And then Yuuri pushes Viktor aside, walks into the room, and immediately throws himself onto the bed.

It’s soft. It’s so blissfully soft. Yuuri buries his face into the pillow and shuts his eyes. God, it feels so good. He thinks he could stay like this forever.

Then he hears the squeak of the bedsprings, feels the bed dip under Viktor’s weight as he sits down next to Yuuri. There’s a brief pause, and then Viktor’s hand is in Yuuri’s hair, carding through it. It’s nice. Yuuri makes a little sound of contentment, and he thinks he hears Viktor laugh. He likes Viktor’s laugh. It’s a nice laugh. He likes being the one to make Viktor laugh.

And then Viktor’s hand isn’t in his hair anymore. He feels the mattress shift, like Viktor’s getting up.

Without opening his eyes, he reaches for Viktor blindly, somehow managing to grip onto the sleeve of Viktor’s bathrobe.

“Viktor,” Yuuri mumbles.

“Yuuri?”

“Stay,” Yuuri says. “Stay here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Please.”

The mattress sinks down again, but it’s different this time. Yuuri cracks his eyes open to see Viktor crawling into bed next to him, arranging the comforter so they’re both tucked neatly under it.

“I’m here,” Viktor says. His voice is soft. Tender. He shifts closer, rests one hand on Yuuri’s waist. Yuuri shifts too, presses his face against Viktor’s neck and inhales.

“You were wonderful today,” Viktor continues. “You really surprised me.” His other hand is in Yuuri’s hair again, and it’s so nice. Yuuri sighs, his breath warm against Viktor’s skin. He thinks he feels Viktor shiver a little. He can’t be sure, though.

“You surprised me too,” Yuuri says.

Viktor laughs.

“I’m glad,” he returns.

Viktor’s hand runs through Yuuri’s hair, fingernails scratching lightly against his scalp. Yuuri could fall asleep like this—that’s exactly what he intends to do. He’s acutely aware of Viktor’s breathing, the rise and fall of his chest with every inhale and exhale. This close, he swears he can hear Viktor’s heartbeat.

It’s so nice. But there’s one more thing on Yuuri’s mind, and he closes his eyes, mumbles sleepily, “Viktor.”

“Hmm?”

“What are we?”

“What do you mean?”

“What am I to you?”

“What do you want me to be?”

Yuuri makes an unintelligible noise. Viktor laughs again. His chest rumbles with the vibrations of it. Yuuri can feel it, pressed this close to him.

“Your coach?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri nods.

“Your friend?”

Yuuri nods again.

“Then… your lover?”

Yuuri freezes. He opens his eyes and lifts his head. Viktor is gazing down at him. His eyes are so soft. And blue. Yuuri knows those eyes, would know those eyes at the end of the world. He’s known them for ages—as a boy, obsessively watching every single video of Viktor on the internet, fastidiously cutting out every single poster of him in magazines. This, though: this proximity, this familiarity—it’s something else entirely. He thinks back to the first time they met, when Yuuri stared at Viktor dumbstruck for a good five minutes, unsure if this was reality, if Viktor Nikiforov really was asleep on the floor of his family’s inn or if it was just one big dream.

It’s not a dream. Yuuri’s pretty sure by now.

Viktor isn’t perfect. Viktor’s not a fantastic coach. Viktor is messy and impatient and sometimes downright insensitive. Viktor never cleans up after himself. Viktor can be rude without meaning to be. Viktor is everything Yuuri dreamed of, and yet nothing like it at the same time.

Viktor is _here_ , holding him so gently in a tiny hotel room in the middle of Beijing. And that’s all that matters, really. That’s all Yuuri has ever wanted.

“Is that what _you_ want?” Yuuri replies at last. Viktor’s embrace tightens.

“Yes,” Viktor says, his voice quiet. “Nothing would make me happier.”

There’s an odd sensation bubbling up in Yuuri’s chest. It makes him feel lightheaded, almost dizzy. It takes a moment for him to recognize it as happiness.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Viktor says. He pauses, laughs to himself. “Well, maybe you winning the Grand Prix Final would, though.”

Yuuri laughs too. It comes out more like a sob. He thinks he might be crying. He buries his face against Viktor’s chest so he doesn’t have to think about it.

“Thank you,” he says, finally.

“For what?”

“For being here.”

There’s a long pause where neither of them say a word. Viktor’s chest is warm; his hands are warm too. The bed is soft. Viktor’s hair tickles the side of his face. It’s the most comfortable Yuuri has ever been in his entire life.

“Goodnight, Yuuri,” Viktor says at last.

The last thing Yuuri is aware of before he drifts off to sleep is the feeling of Viktor’s lips against the crown of his head.

Yuuri smiles.


End file.
